Infinite Games

13. Lucky Dragon

"Hello Joon, I'm Simon. Can I kiss you? My fate depends on it," I said to the cracked bathroom mirror of Tattoos by Joon Faye.

I sighed, clenching the sides of the sink and staring full-fledged at my reflection. But there were no answers there. How do you tell an unsuspecting woman that in order for you to become a Game Master and not spend your afterlife playing bingo, she needs to kiss you and protect your soul for as long as she may live? You don't.

To make matters worse, I had depleted my supply of Jell-o cups while waiting for Joon's parlor to open, and I was still hungry. Starving, actually. My image swayed in the mirror. I could feel my body eating itself in an effort to stay awake and function.

Bang bang bang! I jumped in alarm. The graffitied door was ready to burst. Bang!

"You just about done in there?" a woman's voice --not Joon's-- whined in urgency.

I wiped the corners of my eyes, flicking the yellow crust in the trash can, then stepped out of the bathroom into the tattoo parlor. The whole place sounded like a swarm of enraged wasps. Joon was the source of the buzzing, permanently needling a skull into the back of a blue-haired, nose-pierced customer who laid stone-faced on a reclining leather chair.

The place was small and cramped. Too much was going on. The concrete floor was swallowed up by the walls. Pictures of concept art hung with pride had been tacked over clashing tones of fading graffiti, along with placards advertising prices and awards --like a five star rating on Whelp. Eight leather chairs in all, with the sweat of first timers radiating from the upholstery, were like enlarged hands offering a reclining high five to the ceiling. Eight yellow lights stretched to reach them, forever suspended in the abyss.

But amongst the mayhem, Joon stood out. My memory game beetle had been a black and white hologram of the real thing. Joon in real life was... an overload. She was short and slender, fair skinned. A pair of blue feather earrings popped against her orange dyed hair. A green and purple dragon spiraled up the arm she used to tattoo, and the image moved as she moved. A mesmerizing partner dance.

"Has someone helped you yet?" a mohawk cut my view of her. The man it belonged to grasped my arm, firm.

"No. I was just-"

"Admiring the scenery?" his brown eyes narrowed to snake-like slits. "She's my fiancé, brother. Best you keep to yourself."

"Y-Yes sir," I nodded.

His murderous sneer relaxed and switched angles. I exhaled my fear.

"I'm Taiko, by the way. What can I get yuh?" he said with the friendliness of a happy pug, slapping my back so hard I had to steady myself on a nearby chair.

"A dragon," I said.

"Sure. Take a seat."

I had no money. This was enough to end me up in jail for real. But I had to stall in here until Joon was alone, no matter the price. She was worth my life --according to the game.

"You look kind of familiar," Taiko interrupted my ponderous ignorance.

"I do?"

That snapped me out of it. My hands trembled --whether from starvation or fear remained unclear-- and the parlor seemed too bright in my location. As though someone had stuck a spotlight above me, and me alone. I've been dead for a long while, man.

"Yeah, you do. Weren't you in some movie?" Taiko's face morphed into that of subtle confusion.

Crap. That gained the attention of the whole room.

I had doubled for a lot of young actors in my day. In order to get a part, you have to at least somewhat look like the person, so he could really name any celebrity actor with brown hair and eyes and be on target.

"I think you must be mistaken. Many people tell me I look like an actor, but I've never even been on TV."

"Is that so?"

He was unconvinced. Within my lungs, the air turned to molasses.